Perennials torn from soils of birth life... the base stems writhe in thirst- longing for a path to trace. In still contemplation, bereavement unveils a sense; transcending my current body and form.
The turning wheel of life only renews. What once was shall never be again.
Somewhere in a vast ocean of thinning smoke, memories can hear my yearning in cosmic winds. Engravings wither with the bodies they're carved in- all that we remember is having gripped the stone.
Lusting for regression; a strange desire for a suicidal rebirth backwards in time. What home could conjure this? The only thing I have inhaled is the stale air of a cold prison.
The skin of our cruel vessel sheds infinitely. The being inside it is left to sulk and rot. Should I ascend and return to whence I came, I would have just begun to search for what was lost.
The turning wheel of life only renews. What once was shall never be again.
Somewhere in this vast ocean of thinning smoke, memories can hear my yearning in cosmic winds. Engravings wither with the bodies I carved in- all that I remember is having gripped the stone.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
